"What're you reading, Hon?" says I one day. "Seems to me it must be a bad-luck story. Also, why have you took to reading books upside down?" "Nonsense!" says she. "I been brushing up in my sikeology," says she. "That was one of our senior studies--the last year I had in Smith's, you know." "What's it for?" says I. "Does it say anything about whether it's going to rain next Tuesday?" I ast her. "Well, it's something needed to train us to meet the problems of life as they arrive, Curly," says she. "Does it show you how to look any young fellow in the face," says I--"one that's got his hair combed back and no part in it, and playing La Paloma on a banjo or a guitar, and guess what he's thinking about, Bonnie?" says I. She got a little red and tapped her foot on the carpet. "What do you mean, Curly?" says she. "Nothing," says I. "Only I was wondering if they'd put me in a long coat at the wedding. I never was backed into one of 'em in my whole life." "Well, Curly," says she, "if you wait for my wedding you may need the long coat for your funeral first." "Huh!" says I. "Huh! Is that so? You don't know your pa none," says I. "What do you mean, Curly?" says she, sharp. "He ain't going to be boarding you all your life, kid," says I. "He can't noways afford it." "I reckon dad isn't worried much," says she. "Are you so shore, kid?" says I to her. "Now look here: I'm, say, half your pa. I haven't said a word to you about certain things. What's more, I haven't said a word to your pa about them neither." "I know it, Curly," says she, looking at me sudden. "I love you for it. You're one grand man, Curly!" "I'm one worried man," says I. "I've gone back on my job with your pa." "Do you feel that way, Curly?" says she, and she looked scared. "And is that my fault?" "I shore do and it shore is," says I. "But you haven't said a word." "No--not yet." "Don't, Curly!" says she, right quick. "Don't--oh, please don't!" She puts her hand on my arm then and looks into my eyes. She had me buffaloed right there. I couldn't get her hand off'n my arm. I couldn't help patting it when it laid there. "Aw, shucks!" says I to her. "Come now!" Right then our William he come in at the door, and stood there and coughed like he done when he had anything on his mind. "Ahum!" says he, sad like. "What is it, William?" says Bonnie Bell, looking round at him. "Beg pardon, ma'am, but might Hi speak with Mr. Wilson for a moment?" You see, he called me Mr. Wilson, that being my last name. It was in the Bible, or else I probably would of forgot it. "Oh, all right," says I; and I got up and went out with him. He was standing in his little hall when I come out, and he has our Boston dog, Peanut, tied to a chair leg there with a piece of rope. Peanut barked joyful at me, thinking I was going to take him outdoors maybe. "Hexcuse me, sir," says William, right sad, "but this little dog is a hobject of my suspicion, sir."